Darkness
by Rachel3003
Summary: When he looks at her face, his heart stops beating. His blue eyes collide with her soulless ones, and the emptiness in the green pools makes him scream. Natasha. AVENGERS BELONGS TO MARVEL STUDIOS
1. Chapter 1

_Darkness. That's all he can see. He turns around, trying to spot something in the perpetual blackness. Nothing. He tries to move, but he slips on something on the floor and he falls. There's liquid all over, it's warm and sticky. It smells disturbingly familiar. Then he sees it through the corner of his eyes, a twinkle, like light reflecting on metal. He ignores the impossibility of a luminous reflection in a place consumed by shadows and crawls towards it, a strange pull on his chest that compels him to reach it._

 _As he gets closer, he can see a lump on the otherwise flat ground. It's elongated and rather small, with ups and downs. It almost seems… human? And when he reaches it, he can see what caught his eye. It's a metal tag, two to be exact, and they're covered in the same sticky substance as the floor and his hands. He wipes them with his fingers, and surprisingly, the liquid falls away, leaving the metal completely clean._

 **ROGERS**

 **STEVEN G.**

 **836-25-1947**

 **B NEG**

 **NO PREFERENCE**

 _He blinks and tries to swallow the sudden lump lodged in his throat. His dog tags._

 _A bright light illuminates the space and he has to close his eyes at the abrupt change. When he opens them again, all he can see is red. His hands, the floor, his legs. They are covered in it. Blood. So much blood. His dog tags are completely clean, and he follows the chain back to the lump, only to find out its not a lump, it's a woman. She's on her side, facing away from him, and she's covered in blood too. Her body is broken, her arms and legs twisted in abnormal ways and covered in deep cuts that still ooze blood. Her hair it's so saturated in it that he can't tell which color it used to be._

 _Something heavy settles on his chests and suddenly he finds it's difficult to breathe. He reaches a hand to move her, and does so slowly. Her broken bones crack as he moves her and the sound echoes in the endless space. When she's finally on her back, he can see that she's been disembowelled and that there's an empty hole where her heart should be._

 _And when he looks at her face, his owns heart stops beating. His blue eyes collide with her soulless ones, and the emptiness in the green pools makes him scream._

 ** _Natasha._**

|–|–|–|–|–|–|–|–|–|–|–|

Steve wakes up with a scream, his blue eyes fly open and he sits up, trying to control his breathing and putting a hand over his frantic heart to slow it down. He's covered in sweat, his hair is plastered to his neck and forehead and his sheets are soaked. He can feel the wetness on his cheeks and the sting in his eyes: he's been crying. He still is.

He looks around, taking stock of his surroundings. He's in his room in the church they've been staying: the bluish walls, the dark sheets, the wood wardrobe. The sound of Natasha's breathing across the hall.

 _Natasha!_

He jumps out of the bed and crosses the room, opening the door with a bang, running through the hall and into her room. He must've wakened her, because she's seated on her bed, rubbing her eyes with an annoyed look on her face.

"What the hell, Rogers? Do you know what time–?" Natasha falls silent when she sees him: clad only in his boxers, sweaty and tears running down his face. His breathing is rugged and his eyes are wild.

She's out of her bed in a heartbeat and into his arms in the next. He pats her down, making sure nothing's broken, nothing's open. And she lets him, because she's been through the same before and she knows the feeling. He hoists her up in his arms and her legs curl around his waist, he buries his face in her chest and her hands comb through his hair.

Steve feels something cool against his cheek and he turns a little to see what it is. His dog tags, lying innocently against her right breast. His arms tighten around her and he breaks down, sobbing into her chest. Natasha cuddles him closer and urges him towards the bed. When he doesn't move, Natasha lets go of him and tries to break free form his embrace. He cries out in protest and buries his face further into her chest.

"Shh… it's ok, Steve. Lets just get into bed, ok? Can you do that for me, Soldier?"

He does as she says, and she adjusts their position so that she's lying face up on the bed, her legs opened just enough for Steve to ledge himself between them. He rests his head over her right breast, letting the constant rhythm of her heartbeat calm him down. Natasha hums softly, and the tune reminds him of the song she sang to him on a mission where she'd been hurt and he'd been panicking, alone and lost in the Siberian tundra. Even when she was down, she managed to calm him down. She'd really come a long way in the six years they'd known each other.

Slowly but steadily, his sobs quiet down to sniffles and hiccups, and then only to slightly hitched breaths. Natasha doesn't stop humming until he finally relaxes and searches with an unsteady hand for her own. She gives it to him and Steve grips it tightly, twining their fingers and letting them rest beside them.

"You better now?" she whispers softly in case he's fallen asleep. He hasn't, he doesn't thing he can fall asleep ever again. Those soulless eyes will haunt him down until his dying day. He nods and nuzzles closer. "You wanna talk 'bout it?" he tenses and shakes his head. She makes a soothing sound and massages his shoulders.

She doesn't say anything else. Minutes pass slowly and she never ceases her ministrations, not until his breathing changes and he fully relaxes. He's finally asleep. Natasha releases a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and tilts his face up so she can wipe away the tear tracks from his cheeks. She's never seen him so distraught before and it makes her wonder what his nightmare was about. She's certain she had a role in it, if the way he's still clinging to her is anything to go by.

She sighs and fiddles with his dog tags, remembering the day he gave them to her. It had been a day like any other, four months into their run from the US government.

They were in a remote town in the middle of Russia, staying with an elderly couple that had asked them to help in their store for a few weeks in exchange of a bed and hot meals.

They were in their room –their cover was that they were married after all– and she was reading while he sketched the snowed mountains from the window. He stoped suddenly and stared at her until she looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"What, Rogers?" she asked, and a faint blush spread across his cheeks. Busted.

"Umm… can you tuck your hair behind your ear?" she blinked, confused.

"Why?" he cleared his throat, looked down at his sketchpad before looking back at her.

"It's on the way, I can't see your face." She blinked again before it finally clicked: he wasn't drawing the view, he was drawing _her_. She silently tucked her hair behind her ear and went back to her reading.

Hours later, after they returned to their room after dinner, Natasha asked to see the drawing. He was a little hesitant for a few seconds, but then he went to retrieve the pad and they sat side by side as she admired the sketch he'd done of her.

It really was a work of art, the lines were defined and smooth, and there were small details everywhere. From the way her hair seemed to flow down her back to the light shadow her lashes made over her cheeks.

She turned the page out of curiosity, to see what else he'd drawn since he'd gotten the sketchpad a month ago, only to come face to face with another drawing of herself. She was laughing in this one, eyes closed and smile wide. Her hair was braided and she was wearing his red sweatshirt, so that meant this was made at least a two days ago, when Elena–the elderly woman that had sheltered them– had tried to show them that she could sill sweep Yegor –her husband– across the room in the traditional dance of the town.

She leafed through the book, seeing portrait after portrait, all of herself. She saw herself combing her hair, her back to the drawer but her face reflected on the mirror before her; she saw herself seated on the living room table, sorting trough the different types of yarn Elena asked her to classify; she saw herself in front of the stove, cooking something and looking back at the drawer with a smirk on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes.

She finally reached the first drawing and gasped. It was another one of herself, but this one was different. This one was intimate. She was asleep, lying on her side and in his side of the bed, as if she'd rolled to it seeking his missing warmth. Her arms were tucked against her chest, her fingers barely grazing her chin. She could see every wisp of hair splayed over the pillow, she could see the waves and the curls and a few unruly locks that strayed over her cheeks. She could see the shadow her lashes made over her cheeks, the slight upturn of her full lips, the shine the light of the moon made over her skin.

She swallowed and closed the pad gently before looking up at him. His eyes were glued to the way her hands made patterns on the cover and she hooked a finger on his chin to bring his eyes up to her.

"When did you draw this?"

"The first night we stayed with Elena and Yegor. It was the fist time you slept through the night since we started running." He gazed at her with those soulful blue eyes of his and she caved to her desires.

That night they made love for the first time; they found solace and peace in the embrace of the other. They touched, they kissed, they clung to each other. And when it was all over, when their heart rates returned to normal and their breathing slowed down, Steve reached over to his nightstand and picked up his dog tags, slipping them over her head without a second thought.

She hadn't questioned him, and she hadn't taken them off ever since.

The morning light wakes Steve up from his deep sleep. He can feel Natasha's hands over him, combing through his hair and smoothing down his back. She bends down and kisses his forehead.

"Morning, Soldier." She whispers, her voice low and soothing. His hand tightens over hers and he raises his head to get a proper kiss.

"Good morning, Nat." his voice is hoarse from all the crying he did last night and he clears his throat to get rid of it. It doesn't work. His eyes are still itchy and he tries to rub them, but Natasha stops him and presses a kiss over his knuckles.

"Don't do that, you'll only make it worst." He chuckles, remembering how he'd told her the same thing when their positions were reversed. Silence reigns for a few seconds before she speaks again. "Sister Helen came by…" Steve groans and presses his face to her chest.

"Are we in for another scolding?" Sister Helen was one of the nuns that lived in the church with them, and the one that had forbidden them from sleeping in the same bed.

 _"This is a church, not a brothel!"_ she'd said, scandalized when they'd asked why they couldn't just share a room.

"Nah, I told her you'd had a tough nightmare and she came not long after you fell asleep, so I think you woke her with all the ruckus you made." She tightens her arms around him and leaves a final kiss on his forehead before patting his back so they can get up. They hear a knock on the door and a second later Sister Nadia, the most open of the nuns, enters and gifts them with a smile.

"Good morning, dears."

"Good morning, Sister." They say, giving the elderly woman a slight bow.

"I talked to Father and he agreed to give you two a day off." They blink, surprised. Father Francis is very strict and never let them off their duties at the church. But, then again, he did have a soft spot for Sister Nadia. "He may be an old grouch, but he knows what nightmares are like and he still has ears." Steve shuffles his feet and rubs his neck sheepishly.

"Did I wake everybody?" the nun hums and nods. Natasha puts a consoling hand on his lower back and her warmth against his skin helps him calm down.

"Everyone except Brother Scott, he'd sleep through an earthquake." They all laugh at the friendly jab. "Well then, you two better get dressed before Sister Helen sees you, or you'll loose your day off."

And with that, she's off, leaving the door open. They blink and look down at each other. Steve is still clad in his boxers and Natasha's only wearing one of his grey T-shirts. They look at each other and promptly burst out laughing. She kisses him and sends him on his way.

One hour later, they find themselves tucked away in the gardens with Steve seated against a pine tree and Natasha curled in his lap. She's reading him one of her favourite Russian novels and he reads the now familiar characters over her shoulder. He breathes in the smell of her hair and settles his head on her shoulder.

And finally, the memory of her dead, soulless eyes fades away.


	2. Epilogue

**Y'all remember when Natasha tells Steve to not rub his eyes and he laughs cuz he told her the same thing when she had a nightmare? Well, here you have it!**

 **PS: They are at Elena and Yegor's and it's been two months since their first night. They stayed with the couple for almost six months.**

 _She's running. Running away from it all. The voices, the noises, the screams and the whispers._

 _"_ _Never show mercy, Natalia!"_

 _"_ _You have to pull the trigger first, Natalia!"_

 _"_ _Kill them before they kill you, Natalia!"_

 _"_ _You're not fast enough!"_

 _"_ _You're not strong enough!"_

 _"_ _You'll never. Be._ _ **Enough**_ _!"_

 _The floor vanishes from beneath her feet and she's falling, falling away and there's no one to catch her when she hits the bottom. It doesn't hurt, but it steals her breath anyway. She stays on the ground, motionless. She can't move. She can't breath._

 _"_ _What's happening? Let me go!" but nothings holding her down. Her body isn't responding to her brain's commands. Her eyes roam the room wildly, trying to spot something,_ anything _, in the darkness. Nothing._

 _And then, the sound of boots against the ground snaps her out of her panic. She looks to her sides, nothing. And then she looks up. Nick Fury approaches her from the sky, walking down as if there's ground beneath his feet. It turns out, there is, and Natasha realizes she isn't sprawled on the floor, but standing a few meters away from her mentor._

 _She smiles, and tries to take a step towards him, but his hard look stops her. He looks enraged, his eyes glaring daggers at her like he hated her._

 _"_ _Nick?"_

 _"_ _Disgusting…" she stops breathing. "Killer…"_

 _His image transforms, gets smaller, hair grows and skin lightens. The eye patch disappears. Clint Barton stands in Fury's place, and even though everything is different physically, the glower in his eyes is the same._

 _"_ _Murderer…" she tries to move,_ talk _. Nothing. "You make me sick…"_

 _She sobs and shakes her head. No, no! This can't be happening! Clint loves her, he's her best friend; he would never say something like that!_

Or would he?

 _His image starts changing, gets taller again, the shoulders get boarder. She knows who it'll be before she sees his piercing blue eyes and blond hair._

 _"_ _Steve…" she tries to say, but no sound comes out. His glare becomes harder and she flinches._

 _"_ _You're pathetic…" he scoffs and turns away. Her heart stops. "You're a_ _ **monster**_ _!"_

 _He walks away, the sound of his voice echoing in the infinite space._

 _"_ _Monster…"_

 _"_ _ **Monster**_ _…"_

 _"_ _ **MONSTER!**_ _"_

* * *

Natasha comes awake with a gasp, her eyes go wildly around the room and she clutches the sheets into her hands. Her breathing's hard, her heart's pounding.

 _A nightmare… it was just a nightmare._

She swallows and tries to get her breathing back to normal. Inhale, exhale; inhale, exhale. She shifts in the bed and remembers she's not alone. Or at least, shouldn't be. She turns and looks at Steve's side of the bed only to find it empty and cold. A sudden panic grips her and constricts her chest until she can barely breath. Where is he? Has he left her? Were the voices right? Is she not enough?

She shakes her head, trying to dispel the hateful thoughts her nightmare forces into her brain. She fiddles with his dog tags, still warm from being in constant contact with her skin. No, Steve wouldn't do that, he loves her.

 _Does he? He never told you…_

She jumps out of the bed; she's not going to fall asleep anyway, so she might as well do something productive. She ignores the urge to go looking for Steve and goes downstairs to take inventory of the store. She crosses the living room and down another set of stairs to the shop. She picks up list of inventory and starts going through the checklist Elena left for her to do in the morning.

 _Yarn, check; teddy bears, check; bath oils… we'll need a box._

Her body goes on autopilot, going through all their stocks and marking the one that they lacked. But her mind wanders; lost in the sea of doubts the nightmare created. She wants to slap herself, when did she become so soft? She's an assassin; emotionless, efficient, leave-no-trace-behind kind of woman.

Her vision flashes and she sees him turning away from her, his mouth forming the word that she most fears.

 _"_ _Monster…"_

The clipboard that holds the checklist slips through her fingers and clatters to the floor, but Natasha barely notices. She wraps her arms around herself, trying to control the full body shudder that quakes her form. She's stronger than this! A tear scapes from her tightly closed eyes and she wipes it away quickly. She rubs her eyes and a choked sob escapes her throat.

"Don't do that, you'll only make it worst." says a voice from behind her. Big, strong arms curl around her and a comforting warmth settles against her back. His head rests over her shoulder and she can feel his warm breath against her neck. She whimpers and turns sideways to curl unto him, hiding her face into his neck.

"Shh… it's ok. I've got you, Nat, I've got you." He combs his fingers through her chest-long hair and smiles sadly. It won't be long before she cuts it short again.

She doesn't cry, and he doesn't expect her to. She just shakes in his arms and sinks her nails into her arms. He coaxes her hands open, away from her flesh and guides her arms around his neck. He examines the angry red, crescent moon marks with a frown; she clutched hard enough to peel off the first layer of skin and that worries him. He just assumed she'd had a nightmare –like the many she'd had in the past week–, but now he thinks it may be something more.

He picks her up effortlessly; pressing her close to his chest and picking the clipboard form the floor to put it on the counter. He goes up the first flight of stairs and then the second back to their room. He opens the door with his elbow and then closes it with his hip, trying not to jostle her too much. At first he thinks she's asleep; her breathing is steady and calm, her eyes are closed and her body is deadweight on his arms. But after working with her for so long he knows better than to fall for it. He knows that she'll talk when she's ready, so he doesn't pressure her and gets into the bed with her still in his arms. He rearranged her body so it drapes over his, her head nestled over his collarbone and her left hand over his heart. He settles in, pulls the covers over them both and then waits for her to tell him what's on her mind.

Thirty minutes later he things she's fallen asleep and is about to succumb himself when her quiet voice pierces the air like a knife.

"Do you love me?"

Steve's heart skips a beat and he blinks, suddenly wide awake. He shifts away so he can look down at her, only to find her already looking up at him with those big, green eyes of hers.

"What kind of question is that? You know I do." She looks down and moves her hand away from his heart to fiddle with his dog tags. She looks uncertain, self-conscious and it instantly puts him in alert. Natasha is many things and has her own flaws, but those two aren't on that list. "Nat? What's going on? C'mon, babe, talk to me."

Her lips twitch at the endearment, remembering the time when he'd called her 'beloved' and she'd just blinked at him until he explained that it was how his father called his mother and vice versa. She'd chuckled then –God, he was so _adorable_ sometimes– and told him that just with 'babe' or 'darling' if he felt chummy would suffice.

"Killer…" she whispers, and he starts at the tone of her voice, like she's in some kind of trance. "Disgusting… murderer, you make me sick…" she shallows and clutches the tags harder. " _Monster_..." she raises her eye and Steve stops breathing when he sees tears in her eyes. "You called me monster…"

"Oh, God, _Natasha_ …" he bends his head to kiss her and he tightens his arms around her. He kisses her deep, hard, trying to show her the depth of his feelings, trying to chase away the doubts that the nightmare put in her heart and that shouldn't have ever existed in the first place.

She returns the kiss with passion, letting go of the metal to clutch his thin t-shirt instead. She's insistent, demanding and he surrenders it all to her, inviting her to take all that is his and make it hers. She rearranges herself until she's straddling his waist, both hands now griping this shirt into tight fists and he moves his hands over them, trying to dissolve some of the tension. It doesn't work. When she finally pulls back, her lips are rosy and they're both breathless. She looks into his eyes.

"Say it." He blinks, confused, before frowning and shaking his head.

"No, Nat! You are _not_ a monster!" no, he refuses to say it. But she shakes her head; that's not what she's talking about.

"Tell me you love me." Her voice is barely a whisper and if it weren't for the enhanced hearing the super serum gives him, he wouldn't have heard it. He gazes up at her and smiles, caressing his thumb over her fists.

"I love you." She hiccups and tightens her fingers even more.

"Again."

"I love you."

"Again!"

"I love you."

" _Again!_ "

"I love you, Natasha!" he moves his hands to cradle her cheeks between them and sits up so she's sitting in his lap and he can move her hair away from her face and see her eyes. "I love you and I will _always_ love you. Even if you don't want me anymore, even if you would rather die than look at me again: I will _still_ love you." Her eyes water and overflow and he pulls her closer, tucking her face against his neck and tightening his hold around her waist and shoulders. "I love you, I love you, I love you…"

His voice fades away and the only sound that can be heard in the room for the next hour are her almost silent sobs and hitched breaths. He stays with her, caressing her back and combing his fingers through her hair. She presses her face against his neck and clutches the fabric of his shirt in her fists. Eventually she starts to calm down, her sobs turning into hiccups and sniffles. She moves away and grimaces at the sight of his wet and snot-covered neck. She tries to get up, search for a towel to clean up the mess, but Steve grips her tighter.

"Leave it."

"But you can't go to bed with that on your neck, it's disgusting."

"It's you." He raises a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear and cup her cheek. "There's nothing disgusting about that." And with that he falls behind to the bed, taking Natasha with him and settling in for the rest of the night, ignoring her protests and forcing her head onto the clean side of his chest. "Sleep now, you'll help he clean it up tomorrow in the shower."

There's silence after that and she sighs and lets her head rest over his chest. She raises a hand to cover his heart and stays in the same position until Steve is about to fall asleep. She moves her hand to her neck and grabs his dog tags before returning her hand to his heart and pressing the cool metal over the fabric that ripples almost imperceptibly with the rhythm of his heart.

"Steve?" he hums and skims his fingers over her waist. "I love you, too." His hand stills before tightening and his lips press to her forehead.

She exhales a shaky breath before succumbing to sleep.


End file.
